


the feel of you

by fshep



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 15:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: Sora’s not known for his patience. Very few get to experience him in a state willing to drag things out and bypass instant gratification. Roxas can’t decide if he’s lucky or unlucky to be one of those few; in this situation, it’s precarious.





	the feel of you

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 4am on my phone whilst jetlagged so please excuse any errors and enjoy these two dorks being in love

Sora’s not known for his patience. Very few get to experience him in a state willing to drag things out and bypass instant gratification. Roxas can’t decide if he’s lucky or unlucky to be one of those few; in this situation, it’s precarious. 

His lips are kiss-bitten and swollen, tingling beneath the tongue Sora flicks over them. Flat on his back with an eager boyfriend straddling his lap, Roxas is pinned in place by both the weight of him and the grip Sora’s got on either of his wrists. There’s a surprising amount of strength in his hold, though each finger is wrapped around him in a way that’s conscious of comfort—never digging into fragile bone or twisting unnaturally. 

Not that _ Roxas _ is surprised by that strength, having inherited and built much of his own on top of it. He knows firsthand just how capable Sora is, the muscle of his build lean but very much present. It’s only gotten more prominent with age. Twenty years old and Sora has accomplished the growth spurt he’d always coveted, even if it net only a couple of inches. He’d been less excited about it when Roxas caught up to him, his replica body changing with his heart’s reflection of what it should be like getting older. 

He smiles at the thought. Sora nips at his bottom lip before he offers three successive kisses, mapping out the shape of it.

“What?” he asks, lifting his head up enough to peer at Roxas. “Whatcha thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” says Roxas, eyes creased with evidence otherwise. “Just you,” he amends. 

“I’d hope so,” Sora mutters, rolling his hips down and eliciting a gentle hiss from Roxas. Right, right. How could Roxas’ mind possibly stray from the persistent friction Sora’s been conducting for the better part of an hour? 

The heat between them is just on the edge of _ too much_, Roxas’ shirt having ridden halfway up his chest but smooshed by Sora’s torso to keep the warmth trapped in. It’s damp and slick right where their crotches meet, the fabric of their pants thinning in response to the precum and sweat that’s been steadily building. Roxas can feel Sora’s dick so prominently against his own that it’s almost as good as when they’re both bare.

Not quite, though. This is the longest Sora’s kept them like this; Roxas is nearing his limit. Sora bears down on him again, the slide of pressure aligning maddeningly perfect. 

“Sora,” he moans softly, a flush stinging his cheeks in response to the neediness in his own voice. He tries to steel it into something a little more firm, but Sora’s just too good at stripping away his emotional defenses and leaving him vulnerable and wanting—so it ends up a little whiny. “Come on.” 

And Sora’s response is to kiss him, first on the lips and then down the line of his jaw, punctuating the movement with a scrape of teeth below Roxas’ ear. It’s his favorite spot to lavish, exclusively because it drives Roxas wild, reducing him to putty beneath Sora’s capable mouth. 

Sighing, he arcs his back, pushing his hips up to meet Sora’s in a lazy flex. His legs are the only part of him not commandeered by Sora, and it feels so good to match thrusts that Roxas bends his knees for more leverage. The next time he jerks upwards, Sora is jostled.

The brunette huffs a laugh, warm breath fanning against Roxas’ damp neck. “Jeez. Impatient, much?”

Appalled, Roxas repeats the motion. “Are you really saying that? _ You?_” 

There’s a bit of strain in Sora’s words, something rough and potent with arousal that marrs his mock-innocence. “I’ve never been impatient in my life.” 

“Can’t believe you’d just lie to my face like that.” 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, Roxas grins. He can feel a similar glow of mirth coming from Sora, curved lips searing steadily down Roxas’ throat. 

He releases Roxas’ hands to free up his own, pushing Roxas’ shirt further up his chest so that it’s tucked under his arms. He makes quick work of returning to the path he’d been traversing, veering off to the left side of Roxas’ chest and bestowing a tender kiss over his heart. It’s followed by an equally as breathtaking drag of tongue over his nipple. Roxas spasms beneath it, both hands coming down to grip at Sora’s hair. 

He’s almost _ too _ sensitive here, and Sora knows it, bearing down with his hips to keep Roxas from writhing all over the place as Sora bites and sucks at him.

“Fuck,” he sobs, fingers digging at Sora’s scalp to hold him in place. It’s so much, but Roxas doesn’t want him to stop, mind overblown with hyper-pleasurable white noise. Still, he doesn’t have a proper outlet, and he’s becoming too keyed up for his own good. “_Sora_.”

Sora switches to the other side of his chest, though he lifts a hand to play with the nipple he’d just abused. Roxas’ dick throbs and tenses, like he’s going to come, but he doesn’t. Pleas caught in the thickness of his throat, Roxas can only lie back and take it.

He loves it, he _ does_, but it’s a relief when Sora has had his fill of rendering Roxas incompetent. He sits up properly, wiping at his lips with the back of his wrist, and looks down at his work.

“Man, you’re cute,” Sora says, hands trailing a wandering path along Roxas’ cooling skin. Even when he touches places that provide no stimulation, like Roxas’ ribs or his stomach, he still shudders. “You’re so sexy like this.” 

“Shut up,” Roxas snipes back, embarrassed. Even though the honesty behind Sora’s words is evident, he can’t bring himself to accept them. 

“Nah.” He snatches one of Roxas’ hands and kisses his knuckles, always alternating between mischievous and sweet, and then drops it back onto the bed. He scoots back a little bit, just enough to undo the button and zipper of Roxas’ pants, and he could just _ cry _ with relief. “Want me to touch you?” 

“Why the _ hell _ wouldn’t I want that?”

Sora starts laughing. “I really got you worked up, huh? Don’t be so snippy.” 

“I want to come.” 

He’s not usually this demanding, but Sora’s giving by nature and Roxas is all too happy to receive. He’s waited long enough. Sora knows that he’s on the knife’s edge, he must, because he tugs the waistband of Roxas’ boxers with one hand while wrapping the fingers of his other around Roxas’ length. 

Cursing, Roxas lifts an arm to cover his flushed face contorted with pleasure. Sora shoots him a look, chastising, but he can’t do much to prevent it so he lets it slide. He simply strokes him, squeezing and twisting with none of that gradual teasing from before. He has pinpoint accuracy when it comes to getting Roxas off, knowing exactly how he likes it. Each pump is steady, unrelenting, continuous. 

“That’s it, Rox,” he encourages when Roxas goes tense all over, abdomen and thighs flexing. “C’mon. I got you.” 

The pressure releases. Roxas spills over his stomach, groaning, and Sora doesn’t stop touching him until he’s milked out every last drop and the oversensitivity causes Roxas to buck his hips, sending Sora careening forward on top of him with a laugh.

“Easy, easy,” Sora soothes, pushing himself up with a palm planted on the bed. He leans back against Roxas’ bent knees and takes in the sight of him. He’s boneless, now, flushed and catching his breath. There’s evidence of Sora’s mouth on him, slick patches of skin and petals of red.

Sora absently drags his fingers through Roxas’ come, pupils blown. Roxas is still coming down from his high when Sora undoes the front of his own pants, settling a hand around himself and sighing in blissful respite. It’s one thing for Sora to call him hot, and another to witness him literally getting off to the way Roxas looks. It sends residual sparks of pleasure down Roxas’ spine.

Quietly thrilled, Roxas braves his mortification of making a fool of himself and tugs up at his shirt in something of a pose, an offer, and Sora understands him immediately. He moans, scooting forward on his knees and doubling the pace of his wrist. 

Roxas reaches out and takes hold of the hand hanging limp at Sora’s side, lacing their fingers together and holding it up. When Sora hits his peak, Roxas is warned by a sudden, squeezing grip; he lowers his gaze down to Sora’s cock, watching as he comes all over Roxas’ chest with a broken whimper. He brings their hands up to his lips and kisses along Sora’s knuckles, featherlight.

Once he’s spent, Sora rolls over and flops onto his back, center of gravity precarious at best. Roxas sits up to discard his shirt, flinging it at Sora’s face.

“Don’t get comfortable. We’re gonna shower.” 

“But,” Sora whines, doing nothing to remove the offending cloth. 

“Sora,” he says, lowering the register of his voice to that gentle, tender tone—the same one that made Sora realized he was in love with him. “Come and shower with me. I wanna make you feel good, too.” 

“You already did.” 

“With my mouth, babe.” 

“Oh.” The remainder of Sora’s affirmative is garbled. Roxas snickers, sliding out of bed and helping Sora to his feet. He tosses his shirt in the direction of his hamper. 

Just before they reach the bathroom, Roxas stops Sora for a kiss. When they break apart, he knows he’s got a sappy smile on his lips. 

“Cute,” Sora whispers, teasing, brushing their noses together.

Roxas shoves him into the bathroom; their laughter echoes from their hearts to the stars. 


End file.
